Pitter Patter

Tender rain falling
recalling wispy remembrances
Walking slowly into it unprotected
gray like our forgotten corner dances
cloudy like lost conversations
in strange, unlikely places
Cold like the corners of your mouth
when you say something tasteless

Tumbling walls of the dead
pooling in the streets
I splash through their loss
with forgetful feet
but they gather in rivulets
babbling in whispers
and I’m numb to forget
the secret, fervent vespers

Muted veil across the earth
and sky, neither light nor dark
diverts from bringing the past
to the high watermark
these rainy days halt our time,
and I again take a trip
to chasing butterflies in the open sun
while you licked your lips

I know you, always I will,
when gray insulates
with finger to mouth
hushing the disconsolate
Whether we’re both dead
walking through our phantom lands
and I never see you again in flesh
I am marked where I stand

and knowing you is part of who I am.

Perseverance of the Faint

I get these moments…
When the world seems cold
Shoulders and toes
And I belong
Nowhere with no one:
Old like
I’ve overstayed
The slightest welcome
And I see the back door…

And I think,
“No one would miss me
If I stepped out now.”

Smallest Seed

Curled in comfortless covers
Echoes of fracture imbued my frangible state
But I trembled to You
You delivered my fate
Into kindnesses untold

Take back the foolish words
Like wiping the tear that cannot fall
But evaporates into a new substance
And You wiped them all
Did You keep them?

How I desired family, and now
What a tremendous tree
Into which You’ve grafted
The tiny acorn of me
You as my root.

We wear our brokenness
Scars exposed, unheard-
Our sin leads the conversation
But doesn’t say the final word
You do.

I don’t see how someone so small
Fractured as I have been
Could have the audacity to
Stand before the men
Who make the world move.

How could the weakest member
Born from broken community
Reach through these last ages
Bringing grateful unity
To people better than I am

But what a gift to give!
Those growing new within Your tree
Could avoid the comfortless covers
Of our disunity
And feel the forever warmth

Adoption brings.

I Can’t

My whispers collect here.
Have I been in the cold
Wandering all these years?
Hope is the old man
Singing through his tears
To the child in my soul

I can’t, but I know
God can.

Caught between the crashing waves
My desires wash out to sea
Slipped between fingers that could not save
I drop to my knees in sand.
At least the child was brave;
What is left to make of me?

I can’t, but I believe
God can.

The Lonely Rook

Ivory stones,
the color of moonlight,
hewn from solid surfaces.
An ethereal sight
between the soft flesh
of the pulp, the heartwood,
the bleeding sap and life-
against this backdrop stood
he, the lonely rook
erect, and half a league high,
cold, white skin jutting
his intentions into a black sky
She trembled ere she drew near,
but drawn was she all the same,
wrapped in walls of anonymity
no one to remember her name;
She never felt safer
than in his closed fist
An intimate, unapproachable
Midnight tryst;
Breathless still the walls,
The great silent sentries
Yielded no secrets on odd nights,
Nor yielded secret entries
to the ragged, circling searching
feeling her fingertips sore
desperately hoping
to find a way inside once more

Never knowing
when battened fast
if in lonely stone
her last warmth passed.

On the Inequality of Passings

Tender, timid, untouched petals
huddled side by side
Fearful of the unfurl
Or falling under stride

Growing stronger silently
under the sun’s gentle hand
Braving a peek, a stretching forth:
Petals trust before they expand.

A moment of gray
tents the sky, west to east,
A tiny moment alone
with an unknown beast:

The wind stampedes
Pounding his chest
Grabbing the throat
Of the flower at rest

“Bloom!” he thunders, “Bloom now!
Your bloom creates your space!”
Shaking her petals open
to expose her childish face

Endlessly the wind chides
To bloom a different way
So she stretches back and forth
Bending against the sway

Lost and fallen petals
blown apart, out of vision,
crushed spaces and voices-
“Why?” she asks the wind

and he replies,
“The fault here lies
entirely on your stem.”

Exuberant Agony

I sing to You
Though sweat may roll across my brow
Pain dancing along me in waves
No cure for now
But I have already been saved
In my helplessness, and in my helplessness
You’ll see me through

And what is a little turmoil against eternity?

I sing to You
In withered state,
Onlookers guessing at my loss
Perhaps a well-earned fate
But I have always thrown this on the cross
Regardless of who may accuse;

Even when I accuse, You defend with authority.

I sing to You
Not to appease, nor to procure
Some relief or resolution
But because Your worth is sure,
Incapable of any iota of diminution.
How unworthy am I to be pursued,

Yet You overtook me with Your grace.

Even if these were my last breaths
You are worthy of every song I have left
And eternally more.